


Can't Help That I Need it All

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "i need a pining, best friends to lovers fic, where louis is obsessed with online shopping, flowers, and chocolate/sweets. i don’t care what the plot it i just need those thing to be present." by leedshappened on tumblr....</p>
<p>Yay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Help That I Need it All

It is two hours to dawn and Louis has just bought another mug on eBay. This one is different, he’ll tell Zayn when he rolls his eyes and reminds Louis he has to pay rent. This one is vintage, this one has roses painted on it, and this one is delicate and nothing like the any of the rest of the mugs already lining the kitchen counter of the flat Louis and Zayn share. That’s what he is going to tell Zayn, anyway, when morning comes and he scolds Louis for spending money he does not have. 

But Zayn never scolds him for long. He is either incapable of staying mad at Louis, falling for the coy looks Louis gives him whenever he gets angry, or he is good at pretending he is not angry at all. If he is properly mad at Louis for spending his nights spending the money he earns from waiting tables on vintage mugs, Louis does not really care. Zayn loves him and a little scolding between friends never bothers Louis much. 

Yawning and stretching out like a cat, Louis leans back at his desk, twirling idly back and forth in his chair. The computer screen blinks 4:45 AM but Louis is not ready to go to bed yet. He’s not tired, not with the moon slung low in the sky. He checks his bank account, the clicking of his mouse the only noise in the silent flat, and he must have some money left. Closing his eyes to concentrate he thinks hard, calculating the weeks left before rent is due, and he _definitely_ has some money to spare. His chair squeals when he lurches forward again towards the garish white screen. 

Louis has someone else to buy for. 

The whole thing started weeks ago and it was not Louis’s fault at all. It was Harry’s. Harry Styles was a friend of Zayn’s, a friend Zayn introduced Louis to at some bar, and it was not Louis’s fault at all that Harry had curls cascading over his ears and eyes that were so damn green they should have been illegal. Nope, it was not Louis’s fault at all that he was smitten the moment he laid eyes on the younger boy. And it was certainly not his fault that for weeks he had been sending gifts to Harry’s front door. In the weeks since Zayn had met Harry at a party he had become an increasingly frequent fixture in Zayn and Louis’s lives, coming over to drink and shoot the shit with Zayn and look at Louis like he kind of wanted to eat him alive. 

And Louis kind of liked it. Hell, he loved it, and he asked Zayn again and again if he thought Harry was trying to flirt or if Harry always just looked at people like he wanted to sink his teeth into them. And Zayn pretended he had no idea what Louis was talking about. He drove Louis mad, Zayn did, but as long as he kept on bringing Harry home Louis was never going to tell him so. 

Harry mentioned his secret admirer now and again, showing up at the flat with a box of chocolates under one arm and claiming he loved chocolate, adored the stuff, but would never be able to finish it all himself. Louis pretended he did not choke on the chocolate in his mouth as he watched Harry roll a caramel on his tongue, the gross smacking noises he made as he chewed making Louis squirm in his seat. Everything Harry did was obscene, whether it was licking chocolate off his thumb or showing off to Zayn the ring his mysterious suitor had gifted him the day before. 

“Whoever it is,” Harry said one night the other week, lounging on the sofa between Louis and Zayn with his knees spread open wide, “they must be rich or something. I dunno how they can afford to buy me all these things; almost wish I knew.” And Zayn laughed, clapping Harry on the back and telling him,

“You have a sugar daddy, mate, just enjoy the ride,” and making Louis so nervous he could hardly sit still. Zayn knew, he had to have known, but he never said a word to Louis about it. Louis thought about the seventeen pounds he had in his bank account as Zayn told Harry he had a millionaire looking after him and Louis tried not to breathe harder than usual as Harry leaned back on the sofa and glanced thoughtfully at the ceiling.

“Dunno,” Harry said, lolling as Louis tried his best to keep his eyes off Harry’s throat as he spoke. “I wish I knew who it was. Feel guilty, you know? Why spend all this money on me and then not even tell me who you are?” He was puzzled, his curls mussing up on the sofa, and Zayn’s shoulders shook from the effort of holding in laughter as Louis resisted the urge to pinch him for his inability to shut his mouth. 

And that moment is what Louis thinks about as he leans close to his computer screen, scrolling through the endless possibilities of the next gift for the boy he is hopelessly gone for. He already bought Harry rings and necklaces and shining things; he already bought Harry CDs he thought he might like, books and silly things like socks with bananas on them and a headscarf decorated like an American flag. He had nearly exploded with want, his heart leaping in pieces from his chest like confetti, when Harry had shown up at the flat with the scarf tied up in his curls and a shit eating grin on his face. 

What in the world is Louis going to buy him now? 

He sees nothing of interest no matter where he goes, scrolling through home goods and clothing and movies, and he has to keep Harry’s attention. He has to keep Harry coming back to the flat to show off gifts, laughing with Zayn with his curls bouncing on the sofa. He has to think of something and it has to be soon, dawn approaching like it always does, even when Louis is far from ready. If Zayn actually catches him doing this, Harry’s address punched into the computer, Louis will never hear the end of it. Zayn loves to tease him, after all, prodding endlessly at him for his hopeless crush on Harry, and the last thing Louis needs is for the prodding to get worse. 

Of their own accord Louis’s fingers dance over his keyboard and he finds himself staring at picture after picture of floral arrangements on his screen. Louis works at his lip with his teeth and he leans in even closer, knowing full well if Zayn sees him this close to the computer he’ll cuff him on the back of the head and tell him he is going to melt his brain for staring. Zayn is like that, half roughhousing sibling and half exhausted parent, sometimes giving Louis a wet willy and then chastising him for giving one back in the same breath. Honestly, he drives Louis absolutely insane, but he is never going to tell him just in case Zayn decides he’s had enough of playing house with a boy who can hardly keep money in his bank account for more than a day.

Roses catch Louis’s eye and he clicks on the picture of an overflowing bouquet in a green vase, an intricately designed thing the color of a certain boy’s eyes. It’s perfect, the massive thing, and Louis is typing in his bank information before he can think twice. He sets up a delivery for first thing in the morning and he only pauses in his rush to shower Harry Styles in flowers when the website prompts him to send the recipient of the massive rose bouquet a message to go along with it. 

What can he possibly say to Harry to seem a perfect mixture of cool, sexy, mysterious, funny and utterly, totally alluring? Louis Tomlinson knows he is a lot of things but not one of those describes him at all. He leans so far back in his chair it creaks in protest beneath him and he puzzles, imagining the way Harry’s curls frame his perfect face, and he begins to type before he can change his mind.

He is a lot of things, Louis is, and as he shuts down his computer he begins to think he is an idiot above all things.

***

In the morning Zayn’s friends from work are over, the students he talks about all the time from the art studio in which he teaches, and Louis waves tiredly at them as he pads into the kitchen. He has no idea what time it is but it’s far too early for Niall and Liam to be over, laughing over mugs of coffee as Zayn makes a mug of his own. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Zayn says, laughing as Louis tosses his middle finger up at him. Even if Louis had not been up all night writing a love note to the most beautiful boy he has ever seen he still would be scowling and angry at the breakfast table. He is definitely not a morning person and Zayn knows this, grinning madly as he antagonizes Louis and bustles around the kitchen at the same time. “What are your plans for today, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” Louis grumbles as Zayn passes him a mug from the counter, one he had bought the week before just because it had little skulls painted on it in black and white.

“Shut up and drink your coffee,” Zayn replies, and Louis sticks his tongue out as Liam and Niall begin to chuckle at the table. “D’ya have work today?” Zayn asks, and Louis nods and burns his tongue on his coffee. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Later.”

“Great,” Zayn says, eying his friends and smirking wide enough to give Louis a glaring clue he is up to no good. “Because Haz is coming over any minute and he can’t stop raving ‘bout the flowers he got on his doorstep this morning.” And Louis chokes on his coffee, sputtering as the hot liquid nearly shoots out his nose, and Zayn chuckles and claps him hard on the back. “Flowers, huh?” Zayn asks, the blush creeping up Louis’s cheeks all the answer he needs. “That’s a whole new level of infatuation, mate.” 

“’M not infatuated,” Louis grumbles as he wipes at his nose with his sleeve, but he is. He sure as hell is and Zayn knows it better than anyone. He ignores Zayn’s friends as he probes Zayn for information, his sinuses aching from nearly choking to death on his coffee. “What exactly is he saying?” he asks. “About the flowers, I mean.” The grin Zayn shoots him in reply is especially devilish and Louis wants to smack it off him, Zayn enjoying Louis’s hopeless pining far too much. 

“He said he loves roses,” Zayn says. 

“Ah,” Louis breathes, and he tries not to ask a million more questions like, “What did he sound like when he said it?” and “What should I be wearing when he gets here?”. He can’t be wearing his damn pajamas when Harry arrives, looking disheveled like he had been up all night, and he hurries from the kitchen gulping coffee as Zayn chuckles after him. Louis pads to his bedroom and slams the door, diving into his wardrobe in search of something, anything to make Harry look twice at him when he comes through the front door. He has far too many ill-fitting T-shirts and ripped old jeans in colors like red and neon blue, and he throws clothes all over the room in search of something that says he is equal parts carefree and sexy as hell. 

Of course in all his late night shopping Louis has never bought one single item of clothing that could be classified as anywhere near sexy. He growls to himself, listening to hear if Zayn is still in the kitchen, and when he hears Zayn laugh from far away he uses the moment to pop open his bedroom door and slip into Zayn’s. Zayn’s clothes are a little big on Louis when he borrows them but at least Zayn has a sense of style, devil-may-care written all over the leather jacket on his bed and the tight black jeans on the floor. 

Zayn is going to kill him when he sees Louis rifling through his clothes looking for something to borrow again but Louis figures Zayn owes him for all the relentless teasing he has been doing. Louis never teases Zayn, after all, when he drinks a little too much and stays up late, pulling Louis into his lap to trap him and whine about Liam, his student, the boy he thinks is the most beautiful damn creature on the planet. Louis would never tease Zayn about Liam and he figures borrowing Zayn’s clothes is going easy on him instead of outing his crush to Liam as he sits in the kitchen.

Louis pulls on a long sleeve shirt that he has to roll up the sleeves on, but it fits him well and he admires the way it clings to him in the mirror on the back of Zayn’s bedroom door. As he messes with his already messy brown hair, trying to look effortless but not like he hadn’t brushed his hair in a week, someone knocks at the front door and Louis’s heart skips a beat. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, because Zayn lets Harry in and Harry is here and Harry is going to talk to Zayn about the damn flowers Louis sent him and Louis is not quite ready. He cards his hand once more through his hair and throws it over his eyes, squaring his shoulders and trying not to look too small as he stands. 

“You can do this,” he sternly tells his reflection. “Go on, then, go ahead.” He looks scared and he gets angry at his reflection, kicking at the mirror hard enough to shake it where it hangs before slipping from Zayn’s room and out into the hall. From the kitchen he can hear Harry talking, Zayn running the sink as he replies, and Louis can do this. It’s just a little crush, isn’t it? It’s nothing, it’s not like Louis is in love. 

It’s Harry’s secret admirer who is. 

“They’re beautiful, Haz,” Zayn says from over the sink, and Harry has brought his damn bouquet to the flat and Louis is probably going to die from wanting him. 

“I know,” Harry’s deep voice replies, and Louis’s knees begin to quake where he hides in the hall. “Came with a note,” he adds, his damn voice so low Louis has to lean in close, creeping on his tiptoes, to hear without being seen.

“Yeah?” Zayn replies, and Louis hears the clinking of Zayn dropping Harry’s vase onto the counter and plopping into a chair at the kitchen table. “Sit and read it to us.” All plans Louis had to announce his presence vanish as he stands. He can’t do this; the sound of crinkling paper from the kitchen as Harry peels open the note Louis wrote him makes Louis unsure. He should not have written a love note in the middle of the night, lovesick and tired, but he did. He did and now Harry is reading it and the hardwood floor is icy on Louis’s bare feet as he waits, breathless, for Harry’s voice to fill his ears again as he reads.

“To the boy who has it all,” Harry reads, Louis rapt as he leans ever closer to catch every syllable that rolls off his tongue. “Including my heart. To the boy more beautiful than any rose. Than anything. From someone who doesn’t have a lot to give, your secret admirer.” Harry falls silent and so does the kitchen, and Louis leans so far forward he loses his balance, stumbling in the hall and landing on his hands and knees in plain view of the kitchen. 

“Shit!” he barks, and he scrambles to his feet in time to see four pairs of eyes land on him, Zayn hiding a laugh behind his hand and his friends with their mouths open. And Harry with an unreadable look in his eyes, his face open and his brow furrowed as he watches Louis brush himself off, his cheeks burning as he tries to think of something to say.

“Tripped,” he finally settles on, wishing Zayn would stop laughing at him, but he doesn’t. 

“On air?” Zayn says, and Louis is definitely going to kill him. 

“Piss off,” Louis snaps, and he doesn’t give Zayn a chance to reply. He turns around, running for his life, and as he shoves his bedroom door shut he hears Harry from the kitchen, voice low as he scolds Zayn.

“No need to laugh at him,” Harry says solemnly, and Louis slides from almost certain to absolutely certain that Harry Styles is going to be the death of him. 

“Not laughing at him,” Zayn protests. “I’m laughing with him.”

“He wasn’t laughing,” Harry says, and he sounds so damn affronted that Louis feels like crying, as if Harry is personally offended that Zayn can’t lay off Louis for a goddamn minute. And finally under Harry’s scrutiny Zayn sighs, gathering up the dishes from the kitchen table in a series of clacking and bangs. 

“He makes himself an easy target,” Zayn says, but after what must have been a withering look from Harry he sighs again. “You’re right,” he says, and Louis can all but see the careless way he shrugs as he plops dishes into the sink. 

“You are pretty hard on him,” Liam’s solemn voice adds in, and his admission makes Zayn fall silent. Louis is painfully glad Liam puts Zayn in his place, scaring Zayn into finally quieting down, and Louis can already imagine the apology he is going to accept later. Zayn always apologizes for his inability to stop teasing Louis and Louis always accepts. And as footsteps near the door to Louis’s room he crosses his arms over his chest, intent on not letting Zayn off the hook easy this time. 

But when there’s a knock on the door it isn’t Zayn who’s knocking.

“Lou?” Harry calls through the door, and the heart that had been double-timing in Louis’s chest a moment ago stammers and hiccups. 

“What?” he calls, and he sounds like a petulant child who had been sent to his room. 

“Can I come in?” And Louis is not ready, scared out of his mind of the admission he had made in the card Harry does not know he sent, and he nods before remembering there is plaster and wood separating him from Harry. 

“’S’open,” he says, and far before Louis is ready the door to his room clicks open. Harry stands there, all gangly limbs and red lips and messy curls, and Louis is going to die if he can’t touch Harry soon. He holds his hands behind his back as Harry puzzles in the doorway, his eyebrows knitted together as he tries to come up with something to say.

“Zayn picks on you a lot,” he finally settles on, and Louis nods.

“All in good fun,” he says, wondering if Harry thinks there is something wrong here, something that makes it so Zayn says cruel things and means them. But he doesn’t, it’s not like that, and Harry nods as if he understands. 

“You all right?” Harry asks, and for the first time Louis notices the baby’s breath woven intricately into the curls behind Harry’s ear. There was baby’s breath in generous sprays in the bouquet Louis bought Harry and the thought of him picking it out and weaving the tiny white flowers into his curls is almost enough to send Louis crashing to his knees. “What are you staring at?” Harry says, beginning to smirk as Louis fumbles for a reply. There is no recovering from falling on his face in front of Harry, it seems, and Louis can hardly breathe as Harry hovers in the doorway. 

“You have flowers,” Louis gulps, losing his breath halfway through the sentence. “In your damn hair,” he finishes, and Harry’s long fingers touch at his curls and Louis wants so desperately to be his damn fingers that he wants to cry. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, grinning wide. 

“Why?” Louis asks, his tongue stupid and slow in Harry’s presence. 

“What,” Harry says, both hands flying again to his hair, “you don’t like it?”

“Love it,” Louis chokes before he can reel it back in, and the easy grin is back and Louis wants to do anything to keep it in his sight. 

“Thanks,” Harry says. He studies Louis and Louis stares at him, scared out of his mind as the boy more beautiful than any rose watches him. He sweats through Zayn’s shirt and he is glad; he’s going to put it back in his wardrobe without washing it just because Zayn can’t stop laughing quietly at him in the kitchen. 

“Anyway,” Harry says at the same time Louis is about ready to say anything to break the silence. “I have to get going. Just wanted to pop in, y’know?” 

“I know,” Louis says even though he has no idea at all. 

“I’m thinking of coming over tonight,” Harry says, voice low. “Just to drink a bit with Zayn and the lads.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, and none of this feels real. Harry has one foot in his bedroom and Louis feels small, gulping like a fish as he has to crane his stupid neck to look up at Harry. 

“Yeah,” Harry says as if he can’t quite figure Louis out. “You’ll be here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says so quickly Harry begins to chuckle. Louis wonders before he can stop himself how Harry’s rumbling laughter must vibrate low in his chest and how it would feel to listen to his heart as he laughs cuddled up in bed. Louis shakes his head because he’s such an idiot, Harry hardly knows him, but Harry is looking at him still and Louis can’t escape those green, green eyes even if he tries. 

“See you then,” Harry says, and he still looks puzzled and Louis has no idea what to say to ease the confusion marring Harry’s face. 

“Yeah,” Louis says weakly, and just like that Harry is gone. And Louis is alone with his stinging hands and knees and Zayn’s shirt twisting up in his hands as from the kitchen he listens to Harry telling the boys goodbye. Long after he is gone Louis stands perfectly still, closing his eyes and capturing again and again the feeling over Harry standing over him with his eyes bright enough to burn. 

Louis realizes far too late that he is far over his head.

***

Louis gets home late from work, sweaty and tired and his feet aching, and he hears voices from the kitchen the moment he steps through the door. He hears Zayn and he hears Liam and he hears Niall, but no matter how long he stands still the only voice he really cares about fails to reach his ears. Harry isn’t here. Louis sighs, kicking off his sneakers and tripping over them as they hit the wall, and he really should not have expected Harry to actually be here. Louis made an idiot of himself earlier, after all, and it’s not like Harry would be going out of his way to see him. 

Still, as Louis pads into the kitchen in his socks he can’t help but feel sorry for himself. His pining over Harry is stupid, he knows, but Zayn greets him happily and he can’t quite make himself smile.

“Rough night?” Niall asks, already out of his seat at the table to grab Louis a beer from the fridge. 

“No,” Louis replies with a shrug, ignoring Niall’s confusion as he raises his eyebrows at Zayn for help and Zayn only shrugs back in reply. Louis puzzles all of them. He brings his beer to his lips, angry at Harry for not showing up and even angrier at himself for being so damn beat up about it. What’s Harry to him, anyway? He’s just some boy, some tall and beautiful and mysterious boy Louis can’t wrap his head around. He’s nothing special, anyway, not really. 

“Why the long face?” Liam asks, and Louis gulps down his beer and shakes his head as Liam catches him scowling at the lies he tells himself. 

“I’m going to bed,” Louis snaps, and he drops his bottle onto the counter by the sink and flounces away before any of the boys at the table can say another word. He intends to throw open his laptop and buy something nice for himself, something to make him forget Harry’s stupid face and his stupid curls and his stupid smell. When he slams the door to his room it rattles and he knows Zayn will yell at him for it later, telling him they already owe money to the landlord for breaking the sink last month and they can’t afford to break anything. 

Louis does what he does best. He ignores his responsibilities and he ignores the nagging voice in his head that sounds like Zayn and he throws himself into bed and has three websites open before the bed even stops creaking from the way he lands heavy on it. 

He could definitely use a new pair of shoes. That’s what he’ll buy, some damn shoes. He hates the stuffy old shoes he has to wear to work and he figures he owes it to himself to buy something nice, something to cheer himself up in the wake of missing someone who really should not matter to Louis at all. 

But he does not look for shoes at all. He looks at flowers again instead, finding himself with his eyes closed as he tries to imagine what flowers and in what shades would look the best woven into Harry’s curls. Lilacs would clash with Harry’s eyes and mums would be too big to weave into a crown. Roses would be too heavy and daisies too small, Louis gnawing at his lip as he scrolls through endless combinations of flowers in every color of the rainbow. This is the last thing he should be doing, mooning over Harry and one hand dangerously close to the waistband of his pants as he imagines the way Harry looked at him earlier today, but Louis always does the opposite of what he should. 

The clicking of his mouse sounds far too loud as Louis adds a bundle of deep pink carnations to his virtual shopping cart, the racing of his heart easing as he pays and closes the page. He tries not to think too hard about how the shade of flowers he picked matches perfectly the color of Harry’s lips. 

He’s hopeless. But at least he damn well knows it. 

***

Louis is woken up far too early in the morning by someone knocking lightly on his bedroom door. They knock so quietly he can ignore it for a while and pretend it’s a dream just so he doesn’t have to get up. He’s tired, groggy and achy from the way he fell asleep curled up around his laptop, and he groans as the knocking gets just a little louder. 

“Shove off,” he growls, sleep deepening his voice, and a far deeper voice comes muffled through the door in reply. 

“I’d rather not,” Harry says, and it’s Harry and he’s here at the crack of dawn and he’s knocking at Louis’s door of all doors. Louis sits up so fast the room spins and his laptop hits the floor, making a crunching noise he winces at but ignores as he flies from bed and trips over the computer’s power cord. 

“Shit!” he hisses, and through the door Harry asks,

“Bad time?” and Louis is so damn flustered he doesn’t know what to do. He yanks on jeans, buttoning them up, and he picks up a T-shirt and changes his mind; he wants to see the way Harry reacts to him opening the door only half dressed.

“No!” Louis calls, and with one hand raking quickly through his hair he pads towards the door. “Come in,” he says, and a moment later the doorknob rattles as Harry obeys. 

He has pink carnations entwined in his curls and Louis is going to die. 

Louis was right, the color is the exact same as Harry’s lips, and Louis feels like crying. 

“What are you staring at?” Harry asks, just like he did yesterday, and Louis remembers just in time that Harry did not show up last night and Louis is supposed to be angry at him. 

“Nothing,” Louis says. For just a moment Harry’s eyes dip and Louis squares his shoulders before he can help it, trying to give Harry more to look at as he stands shirtless before him. “What are you staring at?” Louis snaps back, and just like that Harry’s eyes snap back up. 

“Nothing,” Harry says, unflappable as always. “Just wanted to know what you thought of my newest gift. Carnations, yeah? They smell real nice.” 

“Yes,” Louis says. “Carnations.” His eyes flick up to Harry’s curls just as Harry’s flick down to Louis’s torso and the two of them stand there, not doing anything, for a long moment in which Louis forgets how to breathe. Harry smiles his wide, dopey smile and he takes two steps closer and all at once he is in Louis’s room. 

“Smell them,” Harry says, and Louis is definitely going to die. 

“The flowers?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins, lazy and slow, and even when he dips his head he’s still too tall to look eye to eye with Louis. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asks because if he doesn’t speak he is going to lose his damn mind and kiss Harry right on the top of his stupid bowed head. 

“The flowers, Lou,” he says, and Louis wants to cry at the way it sounds when Harry rumbles his name. “Smell them.”

“You’re mad,” Louis says, and to that Harry chuckles. 

“Smell the flowers, Lou.” He shakes his curls in Louis’s face and Louis knows how carnations smell and he knows how Harry smells, sweet and warm and light, but still he leans up on his tiptoes to obey Harry’s bizarre request. Somehow he ends up with one hand on Harry’s shoulder, too short to press his nose into Harry’s hair, and Harry chuckles as he leans down to get closer to Louis. And Louis breathes him in, the sweet scent of flowers masking a little bit of Harry’s deeper boy smell, and Louis is not sure if it’s more likely he’ll burst into flames or if he’ll pounce on Harry and kiss him senseless. 

Harry moves away and Louis does neither of those things. 

When Harry speaks next his voice is husky, eyes dark. “What do you think?” he asks, and Louis has the idea he is not talking about the smell of the flowers in his curls at all. 

“Nice,” Louis chokes anyway. He feels too exposed all at once, Harry’s eyes all over him, and he has no idea why Harry looks at him like this and doesn’t do anything about the hungry look on his face. If Harry wants him half as much as his eyes say he does, he would have told Louis by now. He would not be standing here, close enough to kiss but not kissing him. He would have shown Louis mercy by now, telling him how he felt before Louis lost his mind.

But Harry does nothing. He stands perfectly still and Louis is going to drown in the beauty of him if he has to look at him for another minute.

“I have some stuff to do,” Louis lies, and he tells himself he imagines the way Harry’s face falls. But instead of leaving Harry bows his head and speaks, so quietly Louis has to begrudgingly lean closer to hear him. 

“’M just thinking about my, uh, my _admirer_ ,” Harry says as if the word is poison. “And I’m wondering why they haven’t told me yet who they are. Why they’re hiding. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever know. I just feel I have the right to know.” He can’t know the truth, there’s no way, because Zayn is the only one and he would never, ever tell. But Louis’s heart drops so fast he feels faint as Harry’s green eyes bore into him, his lips just barely parted as he looks at Louis with his head cocked to the side. 

“Maybe they’re shy,” Louis mutters, and Harry asks him to repeat himself. “I said maybe they’re just shy,” Louis says, louder this time, and Harry shakes his head slowly and frowns. Louis wants him to stop, he wants to see Harry smile wide, but he doesn’t know what to say. He hardly knows Harry, after all, the boy barely more than a stranger, but with Harry’s eyes all over him he feels as if he knows everything about him. 

“Wish they’d give me a hint, is all,” Harry says, and when Louis tries and fails to fumble for a reply Harry shakes his head sadly again and takes two steps away. With space between them Louis begins to breathe again and Harry looks at him like there are a billion things he wants to say. 

But he doesn’t say any of them. 

“See you later, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis pretends his heart does anything but break. 

***

“And he’s so fucking pretty and he’s so damn nice and I don’t even know what to do,” Zayn whines for the hundredth time as he and Louis share a cigarette on the balcony of their flat. He whines about Liam every damn night and Louis is a damn good friend and he listens to it all. He knows he owes Zayn anyway, more than he can ever repay, for taking up his half of this month’s rent and for pretending not to see when he catches Louis spending the last of his money on a heart shaped box of chocolates he sends to Harry. Zayn came home with a box exactly the same and now he and Louis share caramel filled chocolates as they smoke together in the icy winter air.

“I know,” Louis says as Zayn groans painfully to the stars. 

“Who does he think he is, flirting with that bloke at the bar and pretending I’m crazy for getting mad about it?” Liam has been jerking Zayn around, as far as Louis can tell, and he knows the feeling well. Harry has not spoken much to him in his visits the past two weeks, muttering that he has to go almost every time Louis enters the room. It drives Louis mad, the way he can’t look Louis in the eye, and he can’t help but wonder what exactly went wrong. But he shoves his worries away to listen to Zayn and Zayn appreciates it, Louis knows, whether he remembers to tell him or not. 

“I’m going to tell him I love him,” Zayn says for the twentieth time tonight. “I have to, I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Go on, then,” Louis says. He takes what’s left of the cigarette Zayn holds in his fingers and he inhales, holding the smoke in and expelling it up to the stars. “Tell him,” he says as he flicks the butt off the balcony to the street below. 

“The moment you tell Hazza you love him,” Zayn says, making Louis hide his face in anguish, “I’ll tell Liam how I feel. Deal?”

“Deal,” Louis groans, and he plucks a chocolate from the box between him and Zayn and pops one on Zayn’s tongue, the two of them trying to talk around mouthfuls of candy as they gripe at each other about the love lives they wish they had. 

And Louis is fine, truly he is, but the longer he laughs the more he thinks he would give anything to be laughing with Harry. 

***

Louis finally gives Harry a hint, his bank account inflated a bit by taking up extra shifts and by Zayn buying the groceries this month, and he types a note for Harry to go with his latest gift. It had taken Louis three hours to find the perfect gift, choosing a cashmere scarf that’s far too expensive but matches the color of Harry’s eyes. He types in a simple message, hoping it comes off as a hint rather than as something a stalker would say, and his fingers shake as he types,

“Hope to see you in this soon,” and sends the scarf Harry’s way with one final click. His heart hammers in his chest and he tries to calm down from the thrill of buying something that will make Harry’s eyes pop. It’s not easy, not at all. When Zayn comes home he finds Louis pacing the kitchen, having paid extra to have the scarf mailed overnight, and he asks Zayn in all seriousness if he’s stupid and crazy and risking his heart for nothing at all. 

To Louis’s surprise Zayn actually thinks about it as he unlaces his shoes and takes off his coat by the door. 

“Not crazy,” Zayn says, straightening up. “Just in love.”

“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” Louis asks, and he can see the pain that flashes bright in Zayn’s eyes as he nods and says,

“I think so, yeah.” They sit eating ice cream side by side on the kitchen counter with their legs dangling, tangled up together as they talk, two lovesick boys who can’t get what they want. 

“He’s always, like, saying things to me that make me think he’s finally coming ‘round,” Zayn says of Liam around a mouthful of mint chocolate chip. “But then he’s like, telling me how into this girl he is and I think he just like my attention or something.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to make you jealous,” Louis suggests, and Zayn’s shoulders bob pathetically up and down as he gives a half-hearted shrug. 

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” Zayn sighs, stabbing at Louis’s spoon with his own to get the last of the ice cream. “At least we have each other,” he says, and to that Louis nods. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Two peas in a pod, we are. How great.” He lets sarcasm drip from his voice and he regrets it when the corners of Zayn’s lips turn down; he never means to be mean but he’s heartbroken and lovesick and he figures Zayn understands. 

“Hope things work out, that’s all,” Zayn finally grumbles after a long moment of silence. “’M tired of being sad.”

“You and me both, Zayn,” Louis agrees, dropping his head dramatically onto Zayn’s shoulder. “You and me both.”

***

Harry knocks at the front door of the flat early in the morning and all Louis can see through the peephole is a flash of emerald green.

“C’min,” he says, and the door clicks open with a creak. And Harry stands there in the doorway, all long limbs and messy curls, and he wears wound around his neck the scarf Louis bought him. Of course he’s wearing it, because Louis gave him the damn hint he needed and he has to know now. He has to. 

“Morning,” Harry rumbles, and something is wrong. Harry looks haggard as he looks Louis up and down, his deep red lips turned down. Louis wants to ask him what it is that’s making him frown, he wants to take away whatever it is, but Zayn steps out from the kitchen and beats him too it.

“What’s with the face, man?” Zayn asks, scratching at the back of his head and yawning, and Louis could kill him for the nonchalance in his voice. This is Harry, sad and downtrodden, and if Harry is sad something has to be terrifically wrong. 

“Depends,” Harry says. “How much time d’you have?”

Five minutes later Harry and Zayn and Louis sit in the kitchen, a bag of some sour candy on the table between them, and Harry chews and thinks and chews some more without giving them much of anything. 

“It’s just, I thought I was doing really well,” he says, and Louis practically vibrates with want as he speaks inches from his side. Harry sits with his legs spread wide every damn time he sits and his knee brushes Louis’s as he leans back in his chair and makes a low whining noise deep in his throat. “Just thought if I waited long enough that everything would work out.” He holds his scarf wound around one hand and Louis wants to snap at him that it’s cashmere, thank you very much, and could he please not twist it up like that? But he doesn’t. He can hardly look at Harry, never mind speak, and Zayn does all the talking required to coax from Harry what’s bothering him. 

“C’mon, mate,” Zayn says, flicking a candy across the table and sending it skittering to the tile floor. “Tell us what’s up. Maybe we can help.”

“Doubt it,” Harry grumbles, and pain darkens his face as he sighs. His knee touches Louis’s thigh and he can feel the damn heat radiating from his skin through two layers on denim. Louis is pretty sure, damn near positive, that Harry Styles is going to be the death of him. 

“Go on,” Zayn says, and Harry gives in. Everyone always gives in to Zayn in the end; he just has something in his lazy smile that makes people want to listen. 

“All right,” Harry sighs, popping candy into his mouth and rolling it around his tongue. Louis definitely does not stare at the way his tongue moves. “There’s this guy. A guy from school.” And Louis’s heart stops. A guy? A goddamn guy? Harry holds a scarf the color of his eyes in his hands and he has the nerve to talk about a guy? Louis is definitely going to die.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, and Louis remembers he sits inches from Harry and he tries to rearrange his face to hide the anger, the burning jealousy, churning in his stomach. 

“Yeah,” Harry grumbles. He looks down at the table and down at his hands and he had checked out Louis when he arrived at the flat, hadn’t he? But he’s not looking at Louis now. “I’ve kind of been into over this guy for…for weeks, and he’s been, y’know, leading me on like crazy. I thought he was just, y’know, playing with me, and when he was done being a child he would sort of admit how he felt about me. But this morning, well…” He fingers the scarf in his hands and Louis’s heart drops. He knows exactly what Harry’s going to say before he says it and he feels he could very well explode from the pain of holding in his admission as Harry speaks, slow as ever. 

“Anyway, I got this in the mail.” He holds up the scarf and Louis sees Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up out of the corner of his eye and he wonders how he can make himself disappear. “I sort of just asked him, y’know, if he had been the one sending me all this…all this stuff. All these presents. Y’know, because it’s obviously someone who knows me pretty well. I dunno. I asked him, and he said it wasn’t him. And I panicked and I told him…I told him I was kinda hoping it was him because I have this big stupid crush on him and then he panicked and he told me he doesn’t even like men, never mind me. He’s just big into flirting, he said, and I dunno. I’m an idiot.” And Harry drops his forehead onto the kitchen table so hard that Zayn flinches away, wincing, and Louis scoots back fast in his chair to avoid Harry’s knees crashing into his. 

The three of them sit in a long moment of silence in which Louis swears all of them can hear his damn heartbeat as his stupid heart breaks. He’s an idiot himself, Louis is, and he’s gone and fallen for a boy who can’t even see him when he’s standing right in front of him, screaming that he loves him with every bone in his body. 

Louis is definitely going to die.

“I gotta go,” he says even though he has nowhere to be and nowhere to go. He leaps up from the table before Harry can raise his head and look at him the way he does, all big eyes and pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows. Zayn follows Louis with his eyes but he doesn’t say anything to him. The pity in his face says it all; he knows just how Louis feels. 

Louis steps into his shoes and he drags on his coat; he has no idea where he’s going without even having brushed his damn teeth but he sure as hell is getting out of here. He’s almost made it to the front door when he hears hurried footsteps behind him. He gets ready to snap at Zayn that he needs to be alone but it’s not Zayn’s who’s followed him. It’s Harry.

“Lou,” Harry mumbles, and he says his name like no one else does, like it’s something sacred. “Lou, can I come with you?” Louis looks at him and again Harry looks him up and down, his eyebrows creased together.

“I’m not going anywhere in particular,” Louis says, and Harry nods.

“’S’kay,” he says. “Just need to be out right now. To distract myself.” And he needs distraction from another man, another boy who causes him pain, and Louis does not want his company. But Harry looks so downtrodden Louis feels like crying and he figures that has to count for something. 

“Right,” Louis says, and he tries his best to keep from watching Harry’s hands as he winds his scarf around his neck. “Come on, then.” 

***

It’s icy cold, today is, and Louis wears his coat buttoned up his throat and his hood up but still he shivers at Harry’s side as they wander the empty midday streets. Harry looks worse off than Louis feels, his face white against the cold and his teeth knocking painfully together. If Louis was walking with anyone else he would have poked fun at them for shivering like Harry does now. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Harry. And Louis does not say a word as they walk side by side, their echoing footsteps perfectly in sync as they pound the pavement. If Harry does not want to talk Louis is not going to press him but he can’t help but wonder what it is Harry’s thinking. He looks pensive, his eyes dark, and Louis has the feeling he is the last person on Harry’s mind even as they walk together. 

Louis is far over his head with Harry and that is never going to change.

They walk by shops and restaurants and pubs and Louis is pretty sure his toes are going to fall off if he has to walk much farther; it’s so cold he has to twitch his nose to keep it from freezing off his damn face. 

“Do that again,” Harry orders, and he hasn’t spoken in so long that Louis jumps at the low sound of his voice, craning his neck to look up at him. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“That face you just pulled,” Harry clarifies, nonchalant in his touch as he takes hold of Louis by the elbow when he trips over a crack in the sidewalk.

“I didn’t pull a face,” Louis snaps, and Harry’s chuckling reply makes his heart soar in a way he truly hates. Harry has too much power over him, Louis thinks, and it doubles when Harry says,

“It was cute, the face. The one you didn’t pull.”

“I was just trying to keep my nose on my face,” Louis says, and he’s being abrasive and he knows it but Harry is someone who always knows what to say to combat it when Louis turns dark and stormy. 

“Louis,” Harry says, and Louis’s name is all he says for a while. Louis wishes he had thought to put on socks as his feet go numb in the cold; he shivers and so does Harry, vibrating at his side, and he wants to beg Harry to take him somewhere warm but he figures he has as much right as Harry does to decide when enough is enough. 

“I’m hungry,” Louis grumbles, and with Harry clutching his elbow with one hand he has no choice but to follow Louis as he leads Harry into a restaurant. The blast of warm air that hits them as Louis pulls open the door is the most delicious thing Louis has ever felt; he tilts his head back and sighs as the door slams shut behind them with the tickling of bells. 

Harry does not release Louis until they sit across from one another in a booth Louis chooses. 

“Louis,” Harry says again, and there must be something he’s trying to say that Louis can’t quite decipher. He’s a mystery, Harry is, a goddamn whodunit novel, and Louis thinks he’s more likely than not going to go mad trying to figure him out. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“Thank you for the distraction.”

“Whatever.” That’s all Louis is, after all, a boy distracting Harry from the boy who really matters to him, and Louis orders tea and gulps it down even though it’s far too hot. He suffocates him, Harry does, and Louis has no idea what to do to escape his quiet gaze unscathed. 

Harry says something that sounds like, “You’re a real great friend,” and Louis tunes him out, playing with the handle of his teacup to avoid picking it up and hurling it in Harry’s face. He’s an idiot, slow and oblivious, and Louis wants with everything in him to hate Harry. He wants to run out of here and not look back and he wants to delete his order history from his computer and he wants to delete Harry’s face from his memory and he wants to forget the hours he spent mooning over him with Zayn at his side. 

But he can’t. He’s an idiot too, it seems, and he can’t stop staring at Harry no matter how badly he wants to. 

“What are you staring at?” Harry asks as if it’s the first time the question has passed his lips. 

“You,” Louis says, the truth burning his tongue, and Harry leans back in the booth and lets his back hit the wood with a thump. 

“Why?” Harry asks. 

“’ _You’re a real great friend_ ’,” Louis mimics in reply, and Harry’s lips fall open as all at once he realizes. There is no way he had no idea; there is no way this is the first time he notices the way Louis feels about him. But shock lines his face and Louis sits and takes the silence, the cup of tea in his hand and the damn air the only things between his hand on the table and Harry’s. And Harry twitches his long fingers on the wood and Louis jerks his hand off the table, Harry’s deep pink lips spilling wide open. 

“Lou, what?” Harry begins, but Louis doesn’t want to hear whatever he is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear an apology or an excuse. He doesn’t want to hear anything. 

“You’re a moron, Harry Styles,” Louis says. “I can’t have been more obvious. I can’t have done anything more to make you see it’s me. It’s always been me, you idiot, for weeks it’s been me.”

He’s said it. He’s said it and it’s out there and Harry gapes at him as he struggles to find something to say. But Louis doesn’t want to hear it. It’s over, he’s ruined it, and he stands up from the booth and pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, throwing down bills at lightning speed. 

Harry follows him with his eyes. 

“Lou, hey,” he rumbles, and if Louis has to hear him call his name one more time he’s going to lose his mind. Harry is too damn lovely, his green eyes wide and his cheeks rosy, and Louis wants to kill him and Louis wants to kiss him. But more than anything, right now at least, he wants to run away. He wants to throw himself into his flat and throw himself into Zayn’s arms and let Zayn try and talk him out of throwing himself from their balcony. 

When he tries to leave Harry takes hold of his sleeve.

“Why are you running from me?” Harry asks. He looks baffled, utterly lost, and Louis wants to scream at him that if he paid any damn attention he wouldn’t be so damn confused all the time. 

“Because I have a big dumb crush on you, you idiot,” Louis snaps, and he’s said it and it’s over and he has to go. He turns away from Harry’s wide, wide eyes and he turns away from the table and this time when he tries to run Harry does nothing to stop him.

***

Zayn sits outside the flat, on the balcony with the door closed behind him to keep the smoke from the joint he holds between his lips from seeping into the kitchen. He’s in no shape to comfort Louis, beat up about something Liam said to him at work, and Louis snatches the joint from his lips and sticks it between his own. They don’t talk as they sit side by side, sharing the rapidly dwindling smoke, and Louis figures if they have to be miserable at least they can be miserable together. 

Louis does not know much but he knows he does not want to waste away like the joint in his fingers anymore. 

“What are we going to do, Zayn?” Louis asks, and it’s freezing outside but Zayn’s cheek is warm as he leans heavy on Louis’s shoulder. 

“Let’s run away together,” he says, sleepy and slow. “Let’s get married and forget these two stupid boys who can’t decide what they want. Let’s get a damn cat and live together forever eating ice cream all night every night until we get fat and old.” He paints a picture with his words that tempts Louis even in its absurdity, the two of them a pair who would never make it forever. They’re too similar, Zayn and him, and Louis chuckles lightly so Zayn’s head bobs on his shoulder. 

“But we could be a million miles away and I would still miss Liam,” Zayn moans, and Louis understands the feeling well. “We could be a hundred years old and living on the damn moon and I would still miss Liam.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says because he is; he hates the pain he feels but he hates almost as much that Zayn feels it, too. Zayn’s messy black hair tickles Louis’s chin as he sighs, leaning heavy into Louis and making him sit crooked in his cold chair on the balcony. 

“Are you going to keep buying presents for Hazza, Lou?” Zayn asks. And Louis thinks about it, thinks about the fact that now Harry knows the truth, and he nods. 

“I think I am.”

“Good,” Zayn sighs. “Don’t ever stop, babe. Don’t ever stop.” He leans back in his chair and Louis loves Zayn when he’s like this, open wide and thoughtful, and he wonders idly if maybe Zayn’s suggestion isn’t so crazy after all. He can picture it, the two of them living in misery together forever, and a life with his best friend is not the worst thought he’s ever had. But Zayn deserves happiness, Louis knows that, and he wraps one arm around Zayn’s shaking shoulders and all but begs him not to cry.

“He’ll come ‘round,” he says for what must be the millionth time in his life. “He will; you just have to wait for him to stop being an idiot and realize what he’s missing.”

“Same with Haz,” Zayn says. “Same with you. He’ll come ‘round. I know he will. The way he looks at you, Lou…I’ve never seen anyone look at anybody like that before.” Louis knows the look Zayn is talking about, the look like Harry might try and swallow Louis whole, and Louis gulps and burrows closer to Zayn’s chest against the cold, closer to the only one who will ever understand how it feels to sit broken like this under the stars. 

“Look at the stars and tell me,” Louis says, pretending for a moment he’s an astronomer as Zayn tips his head back to follow the hand Louis points to the sky, “and tell me it’s not written up there that you and I are meant to be happy.”

Zayn sighs up into the sky, his breath billowing from him like smoke, and he nods. “I see it,” he says. “It’s just, when will the stars come down here so they can see it, too?” 

Louis has no answer for that. 

Because he’s stupid and because he is in love and because he is a sad, sorry masochist, Louis is on his computer late into the night worrying his lip between his teeth as he fumbles for what to spend his money on next. He can waste away over Harry if he wants to. It’s his damn choice. 

He clicks so savagely that Zayn pounds at the wall between their bedrooms, ordering him in not so many words to shut the hell up. But instead Louis pounds back and he knows Zayn is going to pad into his room to join him before he goes and does it. Zayn opens his door unannounced, yawning in his underwear, and he plops into Louis’s bed and sprawls across it at his side. 

“Haz keeping you up?” he asks, and Louis nods. 

“Liam?” he asks, and so does Zayn. 

“What are you buying?” Zayn lies on his back and tugs absentmindedly at loose threads in Louis’s T-shirt, occasionally making soft noises of discontent as Louis pauses in his scrolling for a moment to answer.

“No idea,” he says. “’M stuck this time.”

“Can I help?”

“Help away.” Zayn rolls over, nearly taking out Louis’s computer with his elbow, and he presses his cheek to Louis’s shoulder as he lounges with his face inches from the screen. He looks sick in the blue light coming off the screen and Louis does not ask him if it’s the light or the heartbreak that makes him look so damn pale. 

“Gimme,” Zayn orders, and Louis obeys. He watches Zayn type and he watches Zayn scroll through a website Louis has never seen before for some airline. 

“What are you doing?” Louis grumbles, and Zayn shakes him off when he tries to get his computer back.

“It’s on me,” Zayn says, and Louis falls silent. “Just make sure he’s looking at the right time.” Louis does not trust a lot of things but he sure as hell trusts Zayn.

“Okay,” Louis says. “I can do that.”

***

Louis types out a text to Harry in the morning, his heart hammering and his hands trembling. 

“Is it really happening?” Louis asks Zayn, and he nods and begins to chuckle over the bowl of cereal he nurses close to his chest. 

“Guess so,” he says. “It better be, the kind of money I shelled out for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Louis says, snapping more than he means to, but Zayn smiles slow because Zayn knows he doesn’t mean it. 

“He said he’ll even add the swear in,” Zayn grins. “For a little extra.” And Louis figures he owes Zayn the world as he sits across from him at the breakfast table, his thumb hovering over the SEND button on his phone. 

“If there’s anything I can do for you,” he tries to say, but Zayn waves him away with one hand. 

“You’ve done it,” he says. “You’ve told Hazza how you feel. We had a deal. So today I’m going to tell Liam that he chooses me now or it’s over. He has to give me up as…whatever he sees me as, a friend or whatever, because if he doesn’t choose me today I can’t handle him anymore.”

Louis sits still for so long that Louis wants to prod him and make sure he’s still breathing. But then he moves, slow and careless in his motion, and he sighs. 

“I’m scared out of my mind, if I’m being honest,” he says. 

“I’m proud of you,” Louis says instead of telling him how scared he is, too. The smile Zayn offers him is small, wan and tired, but it’s warm. It’s real warm, and Louis claps a hand on Zayn’s back as the two of them prepare to take two massive steps off the cliffs they stand together on. 

“’M proud of you, too, man,” Zayn says. And his voice quivers as he speaks and Louis wants to tell him he has nothing to worry about. He wants to tell him he’ll be fine. But he has no damn idea and his throat is too tight with panic of his own to tell him anything, anyway. He’s never been a good enough friend to deserve Zayn, not ever, and now all he can do is smile at him and try and assure him as best he can that the two of them are going to end the night happier than they began the day. 

***

It takes Harry three agonizing hours to reply to Louis’s text. When he finally does his reply is simple, Louis staring at the screen of his phone and trying to decipher it in a hundred different ways. All he says is,

_Name the place and I’ll be there._

But Louis frets anyway, waiting on top of a damn hill with his phone clutched tight in his icy hands. This is a terrible idea and nothing good is going to come of this but Louis is the most stubborn person he knows and he is going through with this even if it kills him. Louis texts Harry and tells him where to stand, which direction to face in the mid-afternoon sky, and he tells Harry to stand at the bottom of the hill Louis stands upon. From where he waits he will not be able to see Harry and Harry will not be able to see him but they will be looking up at the same cloudless sky. 

It’s not often there’s not a cloud in the sky in the winter, Louis figures, and he decides the stroke of good luck is a sign of better luck in the days to come. 

Harry tries to call him, Louis’s phone vibrating in his hand, and Louis lets it go to voicemail. He waits, his fingertips numb around his phone, and after a long minute his phone vibrates again to let him know he has a message. 

He has seven minutes to go. So he presses PLAY and he presses his phone to his ear and all at once Harry’s deep voice fills his ear. 

“I’m right where you asked me to be,” Harry says, “and you’re not here. So let me take this moment to make sure you know a couple things.” He pauses and so does Louis, lost in his voice, and he listens as hard as he can so he can hear every damn wavering breath Harry takes as he speaks. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called or…or come around since you…since the other day.” Louis’s hand tightens around his phone as he tilts his chin back, craning his neck to peer into the empty sky. Six minutes to go and Harry’s stupid voice is all he hears. “Truth is, I don’t even know what to say to you that’ll make it up to you that I just let you run away from me in the restaurant. I was an idiot,” Harry says, and Louis scoffs because he’s known so all along.

“I was an idiot and it was never anything, the other guy,” Harry says, and Louis stops the laughter in his chest when it’s halfway out of him. “I was infatuated, Lou, for no real reason at all. I’m sorry for making you think…for making you think that I’m just leading you on. Because I’m not. I think we could be something, you and I, if you’ll forgive me for all the time I’ve spent trying to figure you out.” 

He pauses for such a long moment that Louis pulls his phone from his ear to check if the message is still playing. But Harry’s not done yet and Louis picks the phone back up in time to hear, “Anyway, call me back if you get this before it’s time for…whatever this is. Call me. Right. Bye.”

He hangs up and there’s five minutes to go and Louis and Harry are looking at the same sky, the same blue that Louis begins to think may be the color of love.

Louis does not call Harry back. Instead he plunks down in the grass and he waits, drawing his knees up to his chest and peering up into the endless expanse of the sky. Harry is looking, too. He just knows it. 

With two minutes to go Louis gets a text and he opens it to find a picture of Zayn, his arm slung around Liam, the two of them with their tongues out as they beam at the camera. 

_I’ve got him!_

the caption reads, and Louis is so happy for Zayn he could burst. 

“Knew you could do it,” Louis tells the phone, because there’s one minute to go until his own little miracle and he doesn’t have time now to give Zayn the reply he deserves. He stares up at the sky and he waits, feeling like a little kid as he waits, and then there’s thirty seconds to go and he follows an airplane with his eyes as it flits across the sky. He hopes Harry sees it, is looking in the right direction, and all he can do now is watch. 

And then the plane begins to dive, writing white across the sky in its wake. The tiny thing carves words into the cloudless sky, words meant for Harry and Louis to share.

First comes an I, and the plane cuts down to leave a space. After that there’s an F and then a U, and Louis feels his lips quirk up into a smile as he watches. It cost extra for cursing but Louis doesn’t give a fuck, honestly, as the plane carves in white, 

“I FUCKING LOVE YOU, HARRY STYLES,” across the sky. And Louis can’t stop beaming as he watches the plane swoop and roll over in the sky, the tiny thing finishing Louis’s message with a dramatic loop in the air. If Harry did not know for sure before he definitely knows now. Louis watches the plane disappear the way it had come and he waits for Harry’s inevitable reaction to his message. He’s shivering violently in the cold and he’s getting nothing. Harry has to say something. He has to. He had called Louis and told him he thought they could be something if they tried and his silence now scares the living shit out of Louis. 

He checks his phone. It’s been two whole minutes now since the plane disappeared and Louis’s love note to Harry hangs low in the sky, fading slow to nothing. 

Louis feels he might do much the same. 

Maybe Harry is a bigger idiot than Louis thought, having bolted the moment he realized Louis will do anything it takes to show Harry how damn much he loves him. Maybe Harry lied to him over the phone, jerking Louis around like the big idiot he is for the fun of it. Maybe Harry is not The One and Louis has been wrong all along. Maybe Harry…

All at once Louis is on his back on the icy cold grass of the hill, a pair of warm hands pinning him to the ground by his shoulders.

“Hey!” Louis cries out, but the body straddling his hips leans close and Louis stops fighting to see Harry looking down at him. “Ah,” Louis says. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Harry says, a smile blooming on his rosy lips as he looks down at Louis. His ass is warm on Louis’s thighs and Louis has no idea what to make of him. 

“Hey,” Louis says again, and Harry’s grin impossibly widens. 

“Hey,” Harry says, and the space between them is gone and Harry is kissing him, Harry’s lips hot and soft as he gifts Louis the best damn kiss he’s ever gotten. Harry’s lips give in the right places and take in the same and Louis finds himself closing his eyes as finally, blessedly, he gets to lie in the cold grass and kiss Harry back. 

When Harry draws away Louis’s eyes fly open, Harry breathing hard from his race up the hill inches from Louis’s face. 

“So,” Louis breathes, Harry’s cold pinkened cheeks and nose the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Whaddya think?”

And Harry beams. “I think I fucking love you, too, Louis Tomlinson,” he says, and his voice saying Louis’s name is enough to make Louis’s head spin. 

“You do?” he manages. Harry’s breath washes over his face and it’s cold up here, far too cold to be lying here in a heap, but for the moment he feels he might not ever move again.

“Feel like I might be more and more every minute,” Harry says. 

“Ah,” Louis breathes, because Harry is perfect and there’s nothing else he can say. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you,” Harry says, and Louis nods as best he can in the grass. 

“’S’kay,” he says. “It’s okay.”

“I love you,” Harry says like he’s tasting it, and Louis feels his own smile widen enough to split his face in two. 

“I love you,” he replies, and Harry screams with laughter as Louis lunges up off the grass and throws Harry down beneath him. “Let’s go,” he says as Harry looks up at him with wonder in his wide green eyes. 

“Where?” Harry asks, his wild curls mussed over his forehead as he lies there utterly breathless. Louis feels much the same. 

“Home,” Louis says. “I have a gorgeous boy I need to buy some flowers for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!


End file.
